


The Magic Touch

by MidknightMasquerade



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Canon Compliant, Family Secrets, Gen, Magic Revealed, Magical Accidents, Missing Scene, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-07
Updated: 2018-11-07
Packaged: 2019-08-18 18:35:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16522451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MidknightMasquerade/pseuds/MidknightMasquerade
Summary: “You...you did it!” From her hiding place, Peaches pointed at their unconscious opponent. “You did magic!”The realization pierced Bethany more than any Mabari’s bite. A human. An ordinary, everyday, gossip-mongering human had witnessed the miraculous. Her friend watched her become what she hated the most: a criminal, an outcast, aheathen.Imminent danger prompts a magical awakening within Bethany that forces her to accept the bitter truth: no matter what she wanted, nor how far she ran from sorcery, she would always be her father's daughter.





	The Magic Touch

**Author's Note:**

> The beautiful blessing that is the World of Thedas book series has provided me with endless story inspiration as of late. Recently, I read through the information on the Hawkes, and found that Bethany first discovered her magic after she was bit by a wild dog - and Peaches, of all people, witnessed it. My mind decided to tie this into how the Hawkes wound up with a mabari and, well, this twisted little tale was born!
> 
> Also, the book never specified what age Bethany was at the time? I decided to write her at about ten years old, with Garrett being about fourteen. Writing children, man - it's harder than it sounds.
> 
> Let me know if this differs from your personal interpretation, or how you envisioned Bethany, Garrett/Marian, or Malcolm's first encounters with magic to go!

“Beware the Wilds, Bethany”. 

Of course, Lothering knew nothing of wilderness, but that did not deter Leandra Hawke from insisting otherwise. If the rumors proved true (and they so rarely did), the Korcari Wilds reached only to the other end of the Imperial Highway - a full two weeks walk from the Hawkes’ household. Bethany’s mother, however, believed any woman wandering about the woods to be a witch, waiting to whisk her baby girl away. Should she have remembered that Malcolm himself had taken them through those same forests more times than she could count (and young Bethany prided herself on her counting skills, thank you very much), she ignored this fact in favor of retaining her righteous anger.

“But, Mother!” Each of the Hawke children had perfected the art of protest, and Bethany stood as no exception. A whiny tone, a crinkled nose, a protruding lip: the complete recipe for a child’s complaints. “Peaches found a flower field, right in the middle of the forest! I’ll bet it’s lovely, Mother. Wouldn’t you want me to bring you back some flowers? You’ve always loved white lilies.”

Leandra stifled any further dissent with one bone-chilling look. “I don’t care what that Ebrin Janith thinks she saw, I won’t be losing my daughter over some lilies!” If she had started to stir the stew any faster, Leandra would swear the ingredients needed an extra nudge, but they both knew otherwise. Hawkes took their anger out on objects, not on each other.

Despite her earlier resistance, Leandra’s attention drifted towards the cracked vase atop the kitchen counter. Wilted flowers sagged to the sides, signs of a bygone gift. It seemed an age since death had claimed them for his own. Had no one the heart to replace them?

The sight of the flowers elicited a shaken breath from wizened lips. “I’m sorry, my little girl. I know you want to make your mother happy, but it’s just too dangerous.” She swung the wooden spoon in her direction, a bit of soup swooping towards Bethany. “Go on, now. Why don’t you find your brothers. I’m sure they’re already in more trouble than you could ever hope to be in.” With a wave of her hand, Leandra returned her hand to the cookfire. Her eyes, however, remained affixed on her wilted hopes.

Bethany intended to obey her mother’s wishes. Really, she did!  
Peaches, however, had other plans.

Ebrin Janith - nicknamed “Peaches” by the neighborhood troublemakers for her newly-blossoming bosom - waited outside their dwelling with palpable impatience. A set of thick arms sat wrapped beneath her breasts, but her feet tapped to an incessant, unheard rhythm. She had held her untamable mane of strawberry blonde at bay with a braid that restricted its escape. Freckles framed a frown that parted as soon as Bethany appeared.

“Well it took you long enough!” That scowl split into a toothless smile. Peaches reached for Bethany’s wrist, already intent on dragging her off to their imminent adventure. “Here I thought you’d left me to the hogs. Let’s get going!”

Before Bethany could summon the strength to resist temptation in earnest, Peaches had already dragged her halfway across Lothering. The outskirts of the Hinterlands lurked just beyond her reach. Bethany lurched back from their borders, slipping out from Peaches’ grasp.

“Peach, stop!”

Peaches spun about, her newly-unoccupied hand coming to rest on her hip. “What? Don’t tell me you’re scared now!”

“I am not scared,” Bethany insisted. She hoped her argument sounded more compelling to another’s ears than it did her own. Wilds or not, the woods held dangers unknown to children - and once inside, no one could come to their rescue. “Of the woods, anyways.”

“Then what are you so scared of?”

“My mother...” Bethany kicked a wayward pebble with her foot. “She warned me not to play in the forest.”

“It’s not playing,” Peaches argued. “It’s...what does Elder Miriam call it? Foraging, that’s it!” She threw her heads in the air as if to celebrate her epiphany. “We’re foraging for flowers! I bet your ma’ll be so happy about her bouquet, she’ll forget to even ask where you got it!”

A weak excuse, and they both knew it. Leandra Hawke never missed a single detail. Not when it concerned her children, anyways.

“But...”

Peaches arrested both of Bethany’s shoulders. Bethany could not escape from her piercing stare. “Listen, Bethy. You’re a good girl, I get it. You don’t want to upset your mom. Then don’t come with me! It’s simple. Me? I couldn’t care less about my ma.” She released her shoulders with a pat to each before turning round. Bethany swore she spotted the start of a smirk as she spun. “But I’ll bet Miss Leandra will have been waiting all day for someone to bring her flowers...”

Without awaiting a response, Peaches strode off towards the woods, 

“Wait!”

Bethany rushed forward, ignoring the sting of her toes scraping against the twigs and stones. “I’m coming with you.”

Peaches showed a whole row of teeth - even the missing ones. “That’s the spirit!” 

The woods welcomed its unexpected visitors with a hushed whistle. The branches rustled in greeting as a mighty wind blew through them. The forest’s caretakers had no time to clean for guests, it seemed, for leaves huddled in unswept piles about the ground.

Harvestmere had taken to painting nature in sunset hues, shading the trees with the red of chili peppers and golden of wheat shafts. Lothering seemed, in the autumn, an oil painting to set above a nobleman’s mantle.

But here, beneath the canopy of decaying trees, fall seemed a frightening thought. Wine red rays bled into ruby sun strokes. Golden light melted into copper incandescence. The entire forest basked in the bloodbath of colors. Shades that once captivated Bethany now captured her heart with terror. Every shadow seemed a threat, each drop of sunlight a teasing glimpse of salvation.

_Beware the Wilds, Bethany._

If only she had listened.

Peaches showed no sign of heeding a mother’s wisdom. Undaunted by their intimidating environment, she shoved past a bramble of thorned bushes. “Don’t you turn back on me now, Bethy!”

She didn’t. But oh, how she wished she had.

Still, Peaches word proved true: a veritable lake of wildflowers had welled up within the sea of pine trees. The corruption that had tainted its exterior seemed not to have touched the grove. Poppies and peonies bowed to them as the girls entered their resting place. Even the darkest places, it seemed, withheld a shred of splendor.

Peaches twirled about the throngs of flowers, the waves of her frivolity rippling through the grass. Mirth bubbled out of her until it had burst forth in raucous laughter. The songbirds nesting amongst the treetops echoed her joyous refrain.

Bethany approached the oasis as though it were an ocean, wading into unknown waters with caution. But no sooner had she dipped her toe past the surface of flowers than she dove headlong into the deep end.

All former cares faded in the valley of lilies. Peaches prodded Bethany for her brother’s favorite flower. _Amaryllis, obviously_ , she thought, _for pride and determination_. But Bethany batted her eye sand swore she hadn’t the slightest idea. _He’ll owe me one later._

Peaches picked him a flower anyway.

When the sun at last started its descent into the hilltops, Bethany procured the necessary components for a proper bouquet. Of course, she had nothing with which to wrap them, nor a basket for safekeeping. For now, however, a hand-picked pack would suffice.

If only they had noticed their intruder sooner, but they hadn’t heard the growling until it was already too late.

Bethany recognized it first: a dim roar that sat smothered beneath their unbridled laughter. She had thought it nothing more than the gurgle of their stomachs, empty after having skipped their midday snacks in favor of further exploration. But a stomachache never caused the hairs of her neck to stand at attention.

_Something comes._

With one hand, Bethany snatched the bushel of lilies. With the other, she seized Peaches’ arm. “We have to go. Now.”

“What, now?” Peaches whimpered. Her fingers fondled a half-finished wreath. “I’m still working on Carver’s crown...”

“No time to waste.” Bethany tugged her closer. Her eyes scanned the circle of looming pines. _Nothing - yet._ “Something’s watching us.”

Neither Bethany nor Peaches made a sound. In a moment’s time, the restless stir of the forest had fallen asleep. This fickle canvas in the forest turned to a still life painting. Birds observed in silent anticipation from their treetop perches. 

Bethany swore she could still hear their song. Only this time, their melody seemed almost melancholy, sorry for its listeners. _Here comes the monster._

Bethany thought a twig had twitched. Across the forest, a shadow shifted. Every flinch, every wince revealed a villain in disguise. _Stop it, Bethany. Your imagination is only making things worse_ , she thought. _The trees are just trees. The twigs, twigs. The shadows only shadows._

Or so she thought, until one such shadow manifested into the fearsome form of a rabid Mabari.

The dog prowled out of the darkness with a predator’s confidence. Bloodied drool dripped from its maw, the remnants of its former meal forsaken at its feet. Even now, that guttural growl resounded through the air like a funeral dirge.

The animal would act only on instinct - and so would Bethany.

“Run.”

Both girls bolted back into the refuge of the forest before their stalker could instigate his assault. Blood pounded in Bethany’s ears, a war drum warning of the coming killer. _Doom doom doom_ , beat the drums, _doom doom doom_. She struggled to remember the road home. Left at the tree? Right at the stump? And where had Peaches gone?

Her answer came with a cry of horror.

Without thinking, without caring for her only safety and only for her friend’s, Bethany burst through the forest in search of the screech’s source. A voice inside taunted her: _you cannot save her in time_ , it whispered, _not without me_. Bethany had no time to dwell on her mental infiltrator, for she discovered Peaches, backed against the pines without weapon for fighting or hope of escaping. The mabari closed in on his dinner.

Bethany knew what she had to do.

Picking up the heaviest rock she could hold, Bethany challenged the dog. “Hey, you mangy mutt!” All eyes turned to Bethany, Peaches’ panicked, the Mabari’s pleased. “You want a snack? Eat this!” With all the strength she could muster, Bethany launched the rock at the mabari.

The stone struck the dog straight in the snout. A trail of blood smeared across its muzzle, tainting its bared teeth. It needed no further provocation. The mabari charged.

Bethany scrambled about for rocks, for sticks, for salvation of any sort. _I will save you_ , the voice reminded her with honeyed words, _you and your friend. If only you accept me._ When no weapon presented itself, Bethany turned towards the dog, only to be thrown to the ground beneath it.

Blood and slobber dribbled onto her face. The mabari’s putrid breath suffocated any sound thought. All she could hear was the voice: _Accept me. Accept me. Accept me._

Still, Bethany resisted. Resisted the voice, resisted the dog, resisted death. She slapped at the snarling mabari. Each limb flailed in a futile attempt to prevent her inevitable extinction. The mabari snapped once to her left, only nicking Bethany’s ear in the process. Then to the right, tearing out her hair.

When the mabari lurched forward, Bethany, by some miracle, managed to embrace its face between both hands. For a moment, their eyes locked. Bethany found herself nothing but food in the eyes of an unfeeling butcher.

_I’m going to die, she accepted, I’m going to die as a meal for a dog._

Bethany’s grasp on the dog started to slip, the sharpened teeth nearing hear with every passing second.

Yes, the voice confirmed. You will die, as will your friend. Unless you accept me.

Bethany did not want to accept. Bethany did not want to submit. But more than anything else, Bethany did not want to die.

_I accept._

A surge of inexplicable strength flowed throughout Bethany’s body. Each drop of blood burned with unbridled power. It felt strange. It felt foreign. It felt...it felt... _perfect._

Bethany channeled the energy into the tips of her fingers. With her humane might, she shoved the digits as deep into the dog’s newest scar as she could. With her inhuman magic, she poured out her newfound power.

To any mundane onlooker, it would appear as though mist spawned from human skin. This fog fell out of forced fingertips, spilling out of flared nostrils and opened eyes, until it settled across the entirety of the mabari’s mug.

One word: “sleep”, and the mabari fell limp in Bethany’s arms.

Bethany shoved the dog aside until she could crawl out from underneath it. The thorns and dirt made a welcome change, no matter how much they marred her dress. She inhaled, savoring the taste of relief and freedom.

_You see?_ The voice echoed in her head, all too pleased with itself. _You did need me._

And then, another voice spoke, one just as triumphant, but not half as ominous. “You...you did it!” From her hiding place, Peaches pointed at their unconscious opponent. “You did magic!”

The realization pierced Bethany more than any Mabari’s bite. A human. An ordinary, everyday, gossip-mongering human had witnessed the miraculous. Her friend watched her become what she hated the most: a criminal, an outcast, a _heathen._

“No, I...” Bethany turned back to the mabari, peaceful despite its unstoppable temper. Her gaze fell to her hands: bloodied now, but before, filled with power. _I did not. I could not._

_I am not my father’s daughter._

Peaches took no heed of her friend’s distress. “Oh yes you did. I saw it with my own two eyes!” She stooped down to meet Bethany’s eyes, She stared deep into them, as if observing a stranger for the first time. “You know, you warned me there might be witches in these woods. Never thought you would be one of them!”

“NO!” Bethany lunged forward at the word. Her fingers clasped Peaches’ collar until she had dragged her close enough to feel the pulse of her still-pounding heart. “Please, you can’t tell anyone - especially not the templars! I don’t want to be a witch. I want to be good! But the mabari attacked us and I didn’t know what to do but I didn’t want to die and I...I...”

The dam, at last, broke loose. Hot tears stained Bethany’s dirt-smudged cheeks: tears of anger, tears of envy, tears of fear, tears of shame. Peaches pulled her closer, patting her hair until the dam ran dry. “Woah there, Bethy! I wasn’t about to sell you out. You’re too nice to be magic!” She offered her friend a lopsided smile. “Well, to always be magic, anyways.”

Peaches pried Bethany off of her chest. “I believe you. No templars.”

“Or mothers?”

“No templars. No mothers. Just us.”

Bethany held out her pinky. “Promise?”

Peaches wrapped her own around it. “Promise.”

Keep her promise Peaches did, much to Bethany’s surprise. No templars stood stationed outside her house, nor did they ambush her upon entrance. That made Bethany the only oathbreaker - and Leandra would not let her soon forget it.

“Bethany Revka Hawke,” Leandra admonished, each name spoken in growing intensity, “I told you what would happen if you went into those woods, and did you listen to me?”

Bethany presumed that, should she keep her mouth shut as Leandra scrubbed and scrubbed at her gaping wounds, that her mother would move on from the rhetorical question. This time, however, Bethany could not tame the beast by silence alone. “No, Mother.”

“No, you didn’t! And now look at you - bloodied like a thug and pale as Our Lady’s ashes.” Leandra did not lie: bruises had already begun their gradual emergence, the scrapes across her pink skin now dyed the sickening shade of deathroot. Her mother’s incessant sanitization would only aid in the assumption that Bethany had lost a particularly brutal duel.

“I’m sorry, Mother.” She sniffled to withhold both snot and shame

Bethany would have assumed Leandra might maintain her sour disposition, if her mother had not bent down to wipe away her child’s tears with tender delicacy. “I know you are, sweetheart. But please, listen to your Mother. This family has already suffered so much. If anything were to happen to you, I...” The words wrapped a knot in her throat until Leandra lost them altogether. 

Bethany understood not the troubles her parents experienced prior to Lothering, but she could feel every ounce of shattered hope then. Their suffering screamed clear in the too-tight clutching of her mother’s fingers on her shoulder, the buckling of heartbroken knees, the shriveled eyes of a woman who had cried herself dry. Now she understand her mother’s hysterics, for Bethany had endangered the only happiness her mother had left.

“Well, let’s just be thankful you didn’t hurt yourself too badly, hmm? Unlike your brothers. Andraste herself couldn’t heal Carver quick enough - he’d break another bone right then after.” Leandra tossed the newly-reddened rag across her shoulder and stood to her feet. “Come on, up with you. Maybe we can get you cleaned up before the boys get back.”

As if awaiting their mother’s signal, the door swung open. Carver marched right past the both of them without so much as a word of greeting. The slammed door of his bedroom served as his only hello. Bethany could only imagine what had made him hate Garrett today. _Another lost round of wallop? Or did dear Peaches schmooze the wrong brother?_

And then came the growl.

Out of instinct, Bethany braced herself for the impact: for snarling fangs and slashing claws and breath that smelled of sewage. But instead of slaughter came laughter.

As the paralysis subsided, Bethany whipped about to discover her eldest brother holding a Mabari - _the_ Mabari - in a headlock. _That can’t be..._ But it was, should the gash across its snout serve as any indication. Only, that same injury had now sewn itself shut. Sloppily, for sure, but what healer had wasted their efforts on a stray? And so quickly, at that. _Leave it to my brother to befriend a mutt._

“Look, Mother!” Garrett presented the dog as though he had won a trophy. “May I proudly present the newest addition to the Hawke household, Ser Barkspawn!” 

Leandra’s patented scowl caved into a resigned frown. Even mothers could not maintain their righteous anger from one child’s misadventures to the next. “What is it you think you’ve done now?”

Garrett seemed not to notice her displeasure. Or, if he did, he showed no signs of allowing it to affect his newfound friendship. “Well, I found Ser Barkspawn wandering about outside the woods today. He looked hurt, and, well...” He paused, compassion spilling from every pore of his face. “...a little lonely, too. I couldn’t just leave him there, so I thought I ought to bring him back home.”

Garrett’s meaning seemed to register in Leandra’s mind then, for her brows drew together with incalculable speed. “Garrett Aristide Hawke, I will not have this...this mutt in my house!”

“But, Mother!” Garrett whined. How many times had Leandra endured that same complaint today, Bethany wondered, let alone all throughout time? “He needed someone, needed a home, needed us! No one ought to be without a family. Isn’t that what you told us, why you came to Lothering in the first place?”

Leandra might never have stepped on the field of battle before, but she knew better than to pick a fight she could not win. Explaining the difference in circumstances between the Amells and this half-mauled mutt would be a waste of breath. Garrett knew better than to bring up their past, but Leandra knew better than to bring logic into Garrett’s emotional argument. 

“If you insist on keeping that thing around,” Leandra said, already rubbing at her temple to ward off the inevitable headache this dog would bring with it, “then it can stay outside for the night. I will speak to your Father about it’s future with us when he returns. Until then, I will hear no more of it. Understood?”

Garrett nodded, mollified.

“Good.” Leandra parted ways with a peck to Bethany’s forehead. “Now, the both of you, wash up and change. I’ll have supper ready soon, and we don’t need your stench joining us for dinner.” Lifting the washbasin at Bethany’s feet, Leandra disappeared down the hall.

Garrett approached, ready to introduce her to the dog, when he noticed the injuries scattered across her skin. “Experimenting with blood magic, I take it? Sister, you ought to know better than that!” He winked. “Use someone else’s blood - your own runs out too fast.”

Bethany snorted. “It wasn’t that!” Her brother, ever the charmer, could make the most humorous comment at the most inappropriate moment. Still, she could never resist laughing all the same. “Just an accident, is all.”

“Well? Am I going to get the details, or will I have to tell you all about how you’re my favorite sister first?”

“Fine, fine!” If she hoped to fool her brother, she would need a lie - and now. Bethany scoured the room for inspiration. Her eyes fell on Ser Barkspawn, still standing guard at the door, beady eyes boring holes in Bethany. “I got into a little...tussle, you know. With a boy.”

“What boy?”

“A...good boy,” Bethany said with less enthusiasm than intended. It wasn’t _wrong_ , per se. “Normally, anyways...I hope.”

Garrett scoffed. “Give me his name and I’ll make sure he never messes with my little sister again.”

“And what would you do? Beat him up?”

“Who, me? Maker, no!” Garrett threw his hands up to rebuff her accusation. “Why risk this pretty face when I can sic our new, bloodthirsty pet on him instead?

Ser Barkspawn, however, seemed less than interested in protecting Bethany.

“My hero.” Bethany giggled. “Thank you, Brother, but I’m fine. Really. It just stings a little.”

Garrett prodded at one such gash. Before Bethany smacked his finger away, that is. Undeterred, Garrett extended his hand. “Would you like me to take a look at it?”

“And how could you help, exactly?”

“Why, Bethany, don’t you know?” Garrett’s easygoing grin stretched out into a smirk. He wiggled his fingers towards her, and for the briefest of moments, Bethany swore she spotted a spark of light emanating from each digit. “I’ve got the magic touch!”

It clicked then. Her father’s secret texts, the hours he and Garrett spent practicing Maker knows what without telling a soul, the inexplicably-cured snout of the dog who she’d scarred not two hours before, the “magic touch”. All of it leading to one indisputable conclusion: Bethany might now be a witch, but at least she was not the only heathen in her family.

And then the voice returned: _he needed me, too._

**Author's Note:**

> Whether you would like to interpret "the voice" as an actual demon or as a figurative manifestation of the call to accept magic is entirely up to you! It's deliberately left ambiguous. Personally, I prefer to think that Bethany purposely refused to even acknowledge her magical capabilities because she has always wanted a "normal" life, and thus, the voice became a mental manifestation of her need to accept this inherent part of her identity. But hey, if you think Bethy had some demon dealings, be my guest!
> 
> Alternatively Titled: "How I Met Your Mabari", "Bethany and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day" or "One Mage, Two Mage, Red Hawke, Blue Hawke"


End file.
